The Friar's Tale
by Entropy-Fan
Summary: This is a humorous/terrible poem written as a modern parody of the Friar's Tale. Note: it uses elements of the Friar's personality, but has nothing in common with his actual tale.


**_A/N: This is a sort of modern fanfiction piece based on Geoffery Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales"._**

_The Prologue of the Friar's Tale_  
"Ladies and Gents of great esteem  
And those with nary a blue bloodstream,  
I take upon my gracious self  
The task of spinning this tale (fresh off the shelf!)  
But before I embark on this noble task,  
A kindly favor of you I must ask.  
For you see, as my dear Pardoner was speaking,"  
("And often," he laughed, "If I do say misspeaking.")  
"I realized one thing was clear,  
About a poor friar, none of you seem to care.  
Yes, even you," he pointed to the Host.  
"Why, your forsaking hurt the most!  
While I'm held together with naught but a hatpin,  
(He gestured to his dress of the finest linen)  
You make sure I starve tonight  
How is a poor friar to tell a tale, to measure up to here sir knight?  
Or Madame Bath or a Prioress Esteem?  
I can hardly afford this here rich cream.  
But what's a lowly friar to do?  
If you deem fit, drop a boon or two  
Into the depths of my humble purse  
Take heed, a friar's best tool is his curse!"  
When the purse had circulated  
Our humble friar approbated.  
With a bow and a wave and a sly-modest smile  
He promised a tale that would be worthwhile.  
"All right then," said he. "It is time to begin  
And not to listen would be such a sin!  
So sit back dear pilgrims and sample the mead  
While I spin you a tale of a man and his need."

_Here Begins the Friar's tale_  
Long ago in a manor called Montefiore  
Lived an old man of an age I'm unsure.  
He was noble and wealthy and always sated.  
Never once had he been desecrated.  
He was richer, by far, than the gracious king  
And when he walked by, the flowers seemed to sing;  
"Come one come all, ye wretched souls,  
Forget your farming, your smithing, your coals!  
Ye wenches lay down your butter churns,  
Come kiss the feet of Cornelius Burns!" 10  
Villagers would flock from near and far  
They emptied out churches, and the town bar.  
And when they were gathered, the motley crew,  
Old Burns, at them, shillings he threw!  
And they scratched and tore and bit and fought  
And trampled and scrambled with nary a thought  
As to who was son or wife or mother  
Or neighbor or sister or friend's uncle's brother.  
And during it all not one thought to look up  
But oh they would not have seen his face drop  
But rather lit up like a thousand suns  
As he watched them all, old Cornelius Burns.  
Now in this crowd, as far as was told,  
Stood a fine young man, shivering in the cold.  
He was different yet not, as far as could tell,  
and around this scene he did not dwell.  
With a look on his face (some say was repulsion)  
Down the hill, he began his descension.  
Although the crowd, they noticed him not  
In Burns' gaze, this man was caught.  
"Enough!" he yelled and stared at them all.  
"Get out of my mansion, get out of my hall!"  
Then he stormed back inside and in his wake,  
The bewildered crowd made the earth quake  
As they ran from the grounds, perplexed "What went wrong?"  
As they ran, they could tell the flowers had ceased their song.  
The bolts and the chains, as the gates crashed shut  
made oh what a racket! But they did remain shut.  
For a week or a month or a year (I'm unsure),  
A change occurred in Burns like none before.  
He was cheerless and pale and spoke in naught but sighs  
Gone was old Burns, portly and wise.  
In his place was a stranger who did not flinch  
When a banquet was prepared. No, not an inch.  
His meals remained untouched as was his wine,  
and around the house, all was not fine;  
The servants, they worked a day, maybe two  
And even then, only did make a stew.  
His chambers went undressed (In fact, so did he),  
And his hair grew long and infested with flea  
But Cornelius Burns had more on his mind  
That the fact that his smell made the goose girl go blind.  
"How dare he?" thought Burns, in deep contemplation  
"How dare he not bow and show supplication?  
Or make a gesture of appreciation, but rather  
Dishonor me, and treat me like I'm some other."  
Thought Burns to himself, "oh how I shall make him pay!"  
And he shall forever rue, that day!  
The day, that ass, he dared to assume  
He could make a fool of the fires in me which burn to consume!"  
For you see, Cornelius Burns was a special man  
With special needs that were stronger than  
The force that keeps the sun spinning  
Around this earth, bringing the morning.  
It was in these times that he felt the Need.  
He knew he could not but concede.  
Old Burns set he out that night  
To seek revenge before morning light.  
He questioned every barmaid, and the wenches in the street  
And the storehands rushing to salt the fresh meat  
But the man, none had seen and still none could find  
Truth be told, they thought Burns had lost his mind!  
But this did not stop him, he braved the bitter wind  
He knew (from his Need), the young man he will find.  
And indeed, he was right, for he found the young man  
Sitting by the pub as though he knew Burns' plan.  
Yes, he must have known! For he did not budge  
When Burns heaved him off the bench (it was more than a nudge)  
He just lay on the floor with a sigh "_Que Sera."_  
While Burns, motionless, just stared at the terra:  
He had set out for a chance to punish the man  
Who had made him feel as low as a blueblood can.  
But yet, he knew, this man knew him well:  
Knew his motives and his secrets (those he swore never to tell)  
And this young man, had scorned him!  
Had glanced at his soul and seen it was grim.  
Had known that Burns, he was just a wicked old man  
Who acted a god but was barely human.  
His secrets tore up his inner self  
Until he found pleasure in watching a crowd maul itself!  
"Yes," Burns sobbed to the man on the ground.  
"That is the true reason I throw shillings around.  
I care not for the people or the smiles on their faces.  
All I want is to put them through a thousand disgraces."  
A shilling or two, or a hundred ten thousand.  
Mean nothing to me for the chance to see and  
Laugh in the faces of the people below."  
Said the young man, "yes, sire, I know."  
"But I have another secret," Burns, he continued.  
"It's something that's in me, and may just be in you.  
When I saw you that morn, and made much ado,  
It was because I knew, then and there, that I Needed to have you."  
He bowed his head. "Don't think me a monster for wanting so wicked a deed."  
The young man nodded but simply said "proceed."  
So on the young man, Burns' sins, he relieved  
Until he was as empty as a grown man could be.  
Then he wiped off his tears and re-laced his tunic  
Without a sound but the horse's hooves' _click._  
It had been a month since he left his abode  
And the Burns which on the horse rode  
Was a better Burns which from Montefiore left.

_The Friar's Epilogue_  
"So you see, dear pilgrims, keeping secrets is wrong  
It can destroy your life and you can't do it for long!  
It will eat you up from the inside out,  
Being most considerate, I found a solution we can't live without  
Over yonder, I have set up a cabin  
Where for a few shillings, or a yard of linen,  
Weary travellers heavy laden with sin  
Can confess them to me and be free as had been  
When to this earth they were born, a naked babe."  
Then the friar smiled his special smile and walked off slow into the glade.


End file.
